


The Song Of Ermal

by ohermal



Category: Eurovision Song Contest RPF, Festival di Sanremo RPF, metamoro - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Song of Achilles Fusion, Because yes, M/M, That's it, achilles!ermal, and gay tears, but anyways, i cant tag for my life, i tagged graphic depictions of violence but there won't be anything /too/ graphic, if you havent read tsoa what are you doing???, it's just for tw, patroclus!fabrizio, there will be blood - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-07 01:46:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15898416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohermal/pseuds/ohermal
Summary: One day I was a prince, the next I was an orphan. Without a name, without a friend, I was sent to Phtia.I had heard of that place. Stories of its great king Peleus and his kind heart. But I had also heard other stories. Everyone knew about the rape of Thetis, after which she gave birth to the boy who won the games hosted by my father, years ago.





	1. Chapter 1.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! It' Chiara here!  
> I just wanted you all to know a few things before you start reading, so please bear with me.  
> This is my first ever attempt at writing directly in english: I didn't write it in italian and then translated as I did The Sanremo Mistake. Because of this, please be understanding and if you have any advice on how to improve my writing, do tell me.  
> Another thing: I didn't want to rewrite the book and just change the names, so don't surprised if something that happens in the book is not mentioned here, or vice versa. I wanted to keep things as fresh as possible while still being a little faithful to the book (and to the Iliad).  
> That said, I hope you enjoy this first chapter!

“I am made of memories.”  
“Speak, then.”

 

*

 

I am the son of a king, who was himself the son of kings. All he cared about was securing his power and show off his wealth. I was nothing like him.

My mother, I don’t remember much of her. But I do remember her kindness. Or perhaps I dreamt of it. I’m not sure.

 

This year it’s my father’s turn to host the games, but I’m too young to competealong with the other boys. People are coming from all parts of Greece. Even the Spartans are here, and I’m a little intimidated by them. The spartan boys aren’t much older than me, but they already look like real warriors. Like real men. At least, this is what my father says.

I notice a thin boy, his skin glows in the sunlight and his brown curly locks shine like gold. He is the youngest of the group. He is probably younger than me.

The race begins. He wins, easily.

 

His father comes to claim the prize, and the boy follows him, smiling proud, his chiton perfectly dry. I know who they are. They are from a smaller kingdom, yet the man’s wife -everyone knows it- is a goddess. Now I understand; the other boys didn’t stand a chance against him. Not even the Spartans.

 

“This is what a son should be.” I hear my father groan.

That’s about all I remember about my earlier life.

 

*

“What happened after?”

“I killed a boy.”

*

 

A few years later, when I was eleven, I killed a boy. I didn’t mean to, but he had told me some horrible things. And he wanted to take my dice away from me. So I pushed him. It was an accident, but he was of noble family.

My father didn’t blink when the boy’s family suggested that he sent me into exile. He hated me anyway.

 

One day I was a prince, the next I was an orphan. Without a name, without a friend, I was sent to Phtia.

I had heard of that place. Stories of its great king Peleus and his kind heart. But I had also heard other stories. Everyone knew about the rape of Thetis, after which she gave birth to the boy who won the games hosted by my father, years ago. I was taken in by the king himself, but it didn’t make me special, nor did it make him my father. He was used to adopting orphans and giving them a home. I had always thought that it was an act of mercy, but as soon as I walked into the palace, and into its inner courtyards, I could see why he really did it: the orphans, grateful to the King for having provided them with a home and for having trained them, would have made up a strong and loyal army.

Great. I was going to be a disappointment for my new king as well.

 

I wasn’t the youngest, but I was so small that I looked like I was. I had thin arms, a slender torso and legs more accustomed to slow walks than speed races.

The other boys were always polite, but I couldn’t bring myself to at least pretend like I was feeling at ease. The boy I had killed still haunted my sleep and it didn’t help that I was sharing a room with five other adopted sons of the king. All I could think about was a cranium split open and hands drenched in blood.

I didn’t like to attend the combat trainings but it was my duty to do it, so I did it. And I did it. And I did it. For weeks, and I didn’t get any better.

 

*

“And then, tell me, did you...”

“I met him.”

*

 

We used to have dinner in a large room with stone walls and many tables. The warm light of the torches brightened the room and made it look cozier than it actually was. And then I saw him.

Oh, I hated him. Adored, he was, and proud. As soon as he walked in, everyone’s eyes were drawn to his figure. The boys gravitated around him like he was their sun. And he was. In that light, his skin glowed like bronze in the sun. His hair was long and curly and dark, and adorned with small golden rings. The purple chiton was draped and fastened at his right shoulder by a fibula and at the waist by a brown leather belt. He was taller than the first time I had seen him, and prettier. He was blossoming in a beautiful young man and all the boys aspired to be his one and only companion. But, although he treated them all with kindness and respect, he didn’t show any interest in them. I hated him. With his fast feet and perfect hair.

“Ermal, why don’t you play us a song?” His father’s voice echoed throughout the room. The boy smiled at him. Everyone knew Ermal was an excellent musician, and his lyre produced the sweetest of sounds.

And so he played. And for some reason, he looked at me. And he kept looking at me the entire time. _I hate him._

 

The days were always the same, and they passed quickly. But at night, I would still see the ghost of that boy at home, with his skull open and his brains out. Sometimes, I could see him with my waking eyes. It happened on a regular morning, once. I was walking to the courtyard to train with the other boys, when my heart dropped. I felt my head spin and the only things I could hear were the pulse of my blood in my veins and a voice in my head that kept repeating “why did you kill me?” over and over. I was scared, I didn’t know what to do, so I opened the first door I came across and entered what I later recognized as the pantry, and hid there for what seemed like days.

I didn’t know how much time I had spent there, when I heard someone gently pushing the door open. I looked up and, when I recognized the boy, I made myself impossibly smaller. I was ashamed. Ermal was standing there, looking at me -not _down on_ , just _at_. He came closer and knelt before me, so that our eyes were at the same level.

“What is your name?” He asked. His voice was… light. I liked it. I hated myself for liking it.

I didn’t answer. I was caught off guard; I thought he would at least know my name.

He cocked his head to the side and raised a brow.

“I asked you a question.” He said. He wasn’t used to not getting what he wanted, including answers. But he was a prince, and I was a nobody. It wasn’t up to me to teach him these lessons.

“Fabrizio.” I murmured. I had calmed down, but my voice was still trembling. Ermal smiled politely.

“Why are you here? My father has been looking for you everywhere.”

I felt even more ashamed. And frightened. I knew I was gonna be punished: not only did I not attend the training, but I also kept the King away from his duties, because he was too busy looking for me.

“I was feeling… scared.” There was no point in lying now.

“Why?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

Ermal didn’t say anything. He stood up and looked around, thinking.

“Well, what are we going to say to my father?” He asked, eyeing me.

_We?_

“We could… tell him I was with you?” I said. I surprised myself. How could I speak like that to the prince of Phtia? Suggesting that he lied to his own father?

“But that’s not the truth.” He frowned, as if he had read my thoughts. I sighed.

“Well, then we could get out of here and do something together, so I won’t be a lie.” I didn’t know where I was finding the courage to talk like that, but it seemed like it was working. “What do you usually do at this time in the morning?”

He hesitated, biting his lower lip, but just for a second.

“I play the lyre with my teacher. And it’s late in the evening.”

_Oh_.

 

He helped me get up and out of the pantry.

As we were walking side by side, I kept looking back, fearful that a guard would see me.

“There’s no need to worry, you are with me now.” Ermal smiled. I looked at him; his face was relaxed.

“Why don’t you train with the other boys?” I suddenly asked. He shrugged.

“It is my mother’s will. She doesn’t want anyone to see me as I fight.”

“Then… who do you fight with?” I asked, confused.

“Myself.”

A shadow of sadness darkened his eyes for a moment.

We reached a high, wooden door and when Ermal opened it, it showed a room with large windows and a bench with crimson pillows on top of it. In front of the bench there was a wooden chair. Those were the only pieces of forniture in the otherwise empty room.

“Come.”

I followed Ermal into the room and sat on the bench, beside him. His lyre was lying on one of pillow; he took it and placed it in his belly, then he started strumming its chords.

When the teacher walked in, he was surprised in seeing me.

“What is this boy doing here?” He asked Ermal. He wasn’t even looking at me.

“He wants to learn to play the lyre.” Ermal said. I glanced at him. It wasn’t… untrue. But I had never said it aloud to a living soul. Not to mention I genuinely thought I was just going to listen. Now he was giving me his lyre, and I could feel the teacher’s schocked stare on me.

“I-I don’t… It’s…” I found myself unable to make up a sentence.

“Not now, not with that instrument,” growled the teacher, then stared into Ermal’s eyes. “You should have told me earlier. Is the king even informed?”

“I will talk to my father later. We will talk to him together.” Ermal answered, smiling like a fox.

The teacher took the lyre from my hands and, for a second, I was reminded of the boy who took my dice away from me.

 

That night, Ermal asked his father to receive me. He agreed, though I didn’t expect him to. I knew how to talk to a king, my father was one, although Ermal and his father had a completely different bond. To Peleus, Ermal was a son. To my father, I was a burden. But it didn’t matter, because I wasn’t a prince anymore. I was nothing more than a young boy begging his king for forgiveness.

“I will be there with you.” Said Ermal, and it reassured me. In just a few hours, I had come to dislike him a little less. I think what made me hate him was that he was what my father wanted me to be. What I could never be. Yet Ermal was so unaware. He was effortlessly perfect. Even the things he didn’t like, he was great at.

“Thank you.”

His dark eyes met mine, and his lips curled into a smile.

We entered the throne room, Ermal a few steps ahead, and when we got close enough to the king, we both knelt.

“What have you come to tell me?” Asked Peleus.

I glanced questioningly at Ermal, but he wasn’t looking at me. He had stood up and was facing his father.

“I have come to apologize. It was my fault that Fabrizio didn’t attend his training.”

I was shocked: why was he taking all the blame?

Peleus raised a brow, doubtful.

“And why is that?” He was looking at me, but he was still talking to Ermal.

Ermal didn’t flinch.

“He wanted to learn how to play the lyre and, as he is my _therapon_ , I didn’t see why I shouldn’t oblige.”

My eyes widened, and I for once was thankful for my cowardice, because I was still kneeling and looking down. Were my ears tricking me or did Ermal actually say that word? _Therapon_.

Peleus was surprised as well, but a smile appeared on his face.

“Some of the boys have been waiting for that honor for years, yet you have always rejected all of them. And now, you choose this one? He is not even a soldier, and he never will be.”

I wasn’t even offended. He was right.

“I don’t care. The other boys, I have no interest in. On the other hand, there is so much more to Fabrizio than meets the eye.”

“Fabrizio... “ His father repeated. I didn’t like my name on his mouth. It sounded wrong. Nothing like the way Ermal pronounced it, so clear and right.

I raised my head and, finally, stood.

“Has my son been truthful?” Asked Peleus. I didn’t have to look at Ermal to know that he was smiling.

“Yes.” I said, looking Peleus in the eyes.

 

As we left the throne room, I kept thinking about the word Ermal had used. Therapon. It meant so many things: companion, lover, worshipper even. Almost all of the boys at the palace tried their best to earn that title, yet Ermal decided to gift me with it. I had no idea whether he did it because he really wanted to, or because it was the only thing he could say that would have spared me a harsh punishment.

In any case, as Ermal’s therapon, I was expected to sleep in his room, which was our next destination.

It was the easternmost room of the palace and, as I approached, the smell of the sea filled my nostrils.

It made sense that his room was so close to the sea: his mother was a sea nymph, afterall.

“The servants have prepared a bed for you next to mine. Tomorrow, they’ll bring your things here.” Said Ermal, holding the door open for me.

I stepped into the square room and looked around. His bed was huge, especially compared to the pallet that was made for me, and four wooden columns at its corners held a white veil decorated with embroidery in gold thread. Beside my cot, the wall opened into a large balcony that overlooked the beach. I went out onto the balcony and breathed the cool air of the night. Ermal followed me.

I was looking at the stars, he wasn’t. His eyes were fixed on the sea.

“I’m going to see my mother. Don’t wait for me.” He said, before taking off his shoes and jumping off the parapet and planting his feet on the sand.

I didn’t say anything. I watched him disappear in the dark, then I took off my clothes and leaned down on my new bed.

I was fast asleep, and my nightmares were already there when I closed my eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “One day, I will be greater than Heracles.” He said firmly.  
> Chiron shook his head.  
> “With fame, comes tragedy. I am sure you are aware of this.” His voice was steady and clear.  
> “I am. But I don’t have a choice. My mother says my fate is already written.”  
> “Nothing is certain, Ermal.” Chiron’s lips quivered for a second, as if he wanted to add more, but then he closed his mouth and stayed silent.  
> “It doesn’t matter.” Ermal snorted. “Heracles went mad and killed his own family. And what did the gods do? They left him to die of grief. And what for?”

“How was he, to you?”

“You already know. You were watching him all the time. You were watching us. But you were not seeing.”

*

 

During the following months, Ermal and I grew closer. He taught me how to play the lyre, and I helped him with the combat trainings. I had begun to appreciate his presence, and feel his absence. Now that I got to know him better, I realized there was nothing about him I could hate. I was just being envious. Now I knew he was the purest and most genuine person I had ever met. He knew his own value, but he was always eager to prove himself. He rejoiced of his own prowess.

He didn’t know how to lose.

 

We were always together. One day we went to the beach, and sat on the protruding roots of a tree. The other boys, not too far away from us, were playing with each other in sand. I looked at Ermal and he was like the sun, with his brown eyes and his brown hair and his golden skin. His feet were touching mine, our knees and our thighs were tied together by an invisible rope.

He turned his head to face me, and he was happy. I bit my lower lip.

_ No, _ I told myself,  _ no. _ Yet my body moved faster than my thoughts. I leaned closer to him and, in the blink of an eye, our lips were touching. He tasted like figs and smelled like the sea. He was sweet and salty at the same time; it made sense.

It lasted but a second; the next thing I knew, he stood up and ran away. He left me there, without a word.

_ No… _

 

That night, he left early to see his mother. I didn’t like her. Ermal told me she hated all men, and that she wanted him to live with her, under the sea. I tried to envision it, but the very thought sickened me. For a couple of nights in a row, I had dreamt Ermal’s lungs filling with sea water, and his struggle to breathe. “I am a man!” He tried to scream. “I am a mortal!” But his mother didn’t care. She let him die.

After that, I became more and more anxious, and I couldn’t fall asleep until he was in his bed. I needed to know that he was safe, that he could breathe. But the visits to his mother lasted more and more, and every time he came back he seemed upset. When I asked him about his mother, he would always say “She’s alright. It all went well.” And I knew he wasn’t lying, but he was also keeping something from me. Apparently, he didn’t trust me enough to tell me. Not yet.

When he came back that night, I pretended to sleep. I heard him take off his chiton and lie on his bed with a snort. For a moment, I felt his eyes on me, but perhaps it was just an impression.

 

*

“Why didn’t he trust you?”

“Because of you, I suppose.”

*

 

The year I turned fifteen, Peleus decided it was time for Ermal to leave the palace and meet the centaur Chiron on Mount Pelion. There, Chiron would have taught him all there was to be taught, and thanks to him, Ermal would have had all the means to become the  _ aristos achaion _ . Best of the Greeks.

It all happened too fast for me to even realize. He was already gone when I woke up.

I looked for him everywhere in the palace, and when I couldn’t find him there, I went to the beach and waited there for a couple of hours. I was hoping he would return from the sea. He didn’t, so I reached the orchards at the back of the palace, trying my best to keep my heart from jumping out of my chest.

“Ermal!” I screamed his name. “Ermal! Ermal!” Over and over, but I heard no reply. From where I was standing, I could see the green top of Mount Pelion; it didn’t seem too far away.

Once again, my body moved faster than my thoughts, and I started running. Only when I was already too far from the palace to come back, I realized the sun was going to set in less than two hours. In an instant of pure consciousness, I knew I couldn’t make it to the Pelion, nor could I come back before it was too dark to see, and I was too tired to go on anyway. I was stuck. I was trapped in a forest I did not know and I was weak and scared. The sound of my blood pumping into my ears drowned out the noise of my thoughts. I wasn’t even walking anymore, I was just wandering aimlessly, hoping to faint so I wouldn’t have to feel so lost.

Then I heard it. The slightest change in the air, and I knew someone was watching me. 

_ Bandits! _ Cried my mind.  _ Run! _

I tried to move, but fear paralyzed me. I could barely turn my head and look around. I heard a clatter of hooves approaching. There were at least two horses, and they were getting closer and closer. I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to watch my pitiful self as they took me. One horse ran so close to me I could feel its breath on my face. That was it. I was going to die. Or worse, be kidnapped.

“Fabrizio.”

I opened my eyes and I could finally breathe again. 

“Ermal…” I murmured. I watched him get off his horse and walk in my direction, then he hugged me. His right hand held my head while his left one stroked my back.

“Is this boy the reason of our delay?” A low, but resonant voice came from behind me. Ermal loosened his embrace, giving me enough space to turn around.

Chiron the centaur was facing us, and it seemed like his eyes were staring directly into my soul.

He was taller than all the men I had seen in my life, and his shoulders were infinitely broader. His horse legs were large and strong, and his weight perfectly balanced.

“Yes.” Ermal answered. “I had to wait for my  _ therapon _ .” This is what he said, but what I heard was “I couldn’t leave without him” and it warmed my petrified heart.

The centaur raised a brow, then looked up at Mount Pelion.

“The sun is about to set and we must arrive to my abode before it’s dark.” He announced.

Ermal nodded and returned to his horse. Once he was on the horse, he reached out a hand in my direction, helping me get on it too.

“Listen carefully, boys: follow me, do not stay too far behind and keep your eyes on the road. This forest can be misleading.”

He didn’t even wait for a response; he turned around and galloped off into the trees.

Ermal clasped his feet on the sides of the horse, and it set off quickly in pursuit of Chiron.

The centaur was faster than I could have ever imagined, but if there was anyone on Earth who could keep up with him, it was Ermal. He led the horse with extreme agility, guiding it through trees and bushes, rocks and brambles, without ever losing sight of the centaur.

 

We reached the top of the Pelion before night. Chiron told us to get off the horse and set him free. Ermal was happy to oblige.

“This is my home. I have only prepared one bed.” Chiron said, before his eyes met mine. “I didn’t think there was going to be someone else.”

I lowered my gaze, embarrassed. Ermal took a step forward.

“There’s no problem at all.” He smiled, then looked at me. “We will share.”

I wasn’t amazed by what he said. After all, we had slept together before. However, the ease with which he said it left me open-mouthed.

I eyed Chiron, looking for a sign of judgement, or approval, or any reaction at all.

Instead, he nodded and ran away. When he came back, he held wooden logs in his arms he would have used to light a large fire.

 

Ermal and I walked side by side to the entrance of a cave, hidden by a leather curtain. Ermal lifted one side of the curtain and let me in: the interior was breathtaking. The cave was carved into rose-quartz, which sparkled in the light of the torch in Ermal’s hand. It was the most beautiful place I had ever been in, and I thought that, maybe, I could call this place home.

  
  


*

“I don’t understand.”

“Because you’re still making the same mistake. You are hearing, but you are not listening.”

*

 

Chiron was the best teacher I could ever ask for. He taught us which plants we could use to create lotions and concoctions. He taught us how to tell poisonous snakes from venomous ones, or the ones who were harmless. When we went swimming in the river, he told us the names of every kind of fish and then showed us how to catch them.

At night, we would lay on the forest floor by the fire, and he would teach us the names of the stars and the stories behind them.

“That one is Heracles.” He said one night, pointing at a huge constellation. To me, it looked like an odd spider.

“Did you really train Heracles?” Asked Ermal after a moment of silence. Chiron sighed.

“Yes.” He answered. I looked at Ermal and saw a strange light in his eyes.

“One day, I will be greater than Heracles.” He said firmly.

Chiron shook his head.

“With fame, comes tragedy. I am sure you are aware of this.” His voice was steady and clear.

“I am. But I don’t have a choice. My mother says my fate is already written.”

“Nothing is certain, Ermal.” Chiron’s lips quivered for a second, as if he wanted to add more, but then he closed his mouth and stayed silent.

“It doesn’t matter.” Ermal snorted. “Heracles went mad and killed his own family. And what did the gods do? They left him to die of grief. And what for?”

“The gods wanted to punish him.”

“But his family paid the highest price. The gods are unfair.”

“There is no law that gods must be fair, Ermal,” Chiron said. “And perhaps it is the greater grief, after all, to be left on earth when another is gone.”

 

We spent our best years on Mount Pelion, and Chiron was the closest thing I had ever had to a father.

Ermal was turning sixteen in a week, and I wanted to make him a present, so I asked Chiron for help. He brought me a balsa branch, excellent for carving. I thanked him and set to work. By the end of the week, the sculpture was finished: a young boy, with long, curly hair sat on a bench, with a lyre in his belly. When I showed it to Chiron, he rested a hand on my head and smiled. He liked it.

The morning of Ermal’s birthday, I woke earlier than usual and went to the woods with Chiron to harvest flowers and fruits for breakfast. When we came back, Ermal was waiting for us by the cave.

“Good morning.” I said, placing the crop to the ground. I stepped closer to Ermal and hugged him. “Happy birthday!”

He held me for a long minute, then he let go and smiled.

“Thanks, Fabrizio.”

We spent the rest of the morning swimming in the river, and only came back to the cave when we heard the trumpets of Phtia: Peleus’ messengers with his presents for Ermal had arrived.

A wonderful purple cape, a shield too heavy and adorned to be carried in battle, a spear with a golden head. Ermal didn’t pay much attention to those presents though. He was more curious to know what I was hiding behind my back.

“What have you got there, Fabrizio?” He asked, biting his lower lip.

No one had ever pronounced my name the way he did. And I didn’t want anyone besides him to.

Finally, I showed him my work. His eyes lighted up as he reached out his hand and took it. 

“It’s you.” I said.

“I know.” He replied instantly, his eyes fixed in mine.

 

In the evening, Ermal left to visit his mother. He returned at night, pouty and snorting. It was spring, and Chiron slept outside the cave. I was inside, waiting for Ermal on our bed -the same bed Chiron had first made up for Ermal and that we’d shared since. He entered the cave and joined me on the bed. He laid down next to me and we spent a good half-hour looking up at the rose-quartz ceiling, imagining to see small galaxies in the sparkles created by the light that came from the outside.

“How is your mother?” I asked.

“She’s good.”

“You were away longer than usual…”   
He grinned.

“Where you worried?”

“Yes, I was. I always am, and you know it.” I answered, frowning. He let out a sigh.

“She didn’t want me to come back to you. She doesn’t like you.”

_ I know _ , I wanted to say, but I didn’t.

Suddenly, Ermal turned his head to face me, and there were less than a few inches between us.

There was something in his eyes. Something I didn’t quite recognize at first, because it was something I had seen in others’ eyes, never in his. It was the same glint I had seen in the eyes of the boys back in Phtia, as they were having their first experiences. It was the same glint I knew I must have had when I left a peck on Ermal’s lips, years ago, on that beach. It was desire.

“Ermal…” I whispered, as the realization hit me.

“It’s alright…” He whispered back. “My mother can’t see us here.”

I didn’t even hear him. My lips met his in a glimpse of delight. I opened my eyes and only then realized I had closed them. One second we were staring at each other, almost in fear of making a huge mistake, the next Ermal was on top of me, his hands on my bare chest and his thighs wrapped around my hips. Once again, my body moved faster than my mind, and before I knew it, our lips collided again. Hungry, yet insatiable. Sweet, yet almost violent. Our hearts were savage as only young hearts can be. Our hands wandered on each other’s body, discovering, pressing, loving. He kissed my neck, then my collarbone, then my chest. I pulled his hair and a low groan came out of his mouth, and I wondered how many other lovely sounds I could get out of him.

I didn’t even know if Chiron could hear us, and I didn’t care. My mind was busy with something else.

With his body pressed against mine, I finally felt at home for the first time. I knew I belonged somewhere, and it was in Ermal’s arms.

As his fingers worked my body, and as his mouth left pink marks on my skin, I knew it would have been this, always.

_ I will never leave him _ , I told myself,  _ not even the gods will wrest me from him. _

 

*

“Your love was your curse.”   
“No. You were our curse. The gods were our curse. Enmity, jealousy, fate. Those were our curse.”

*

 

A few weeks later, two messengers from Phtia came to the cave.

“King Peleus orders his son to return home.”

Chiron turned to me, and a worried look appeared on his face.

As Ermal picked up his things, I heard the anguished sighs of the centaur, who stayed by my side the whole time.

“You don’t have to go.” He said, finally, as we were about to leave. I looked at him and I saw a father. Not my father; a real father. But no matter how bad I wanted to stay there: wherever Ermal went, I would have followed him.

“I know, but I do.”

Chiron then turned to Ermal, who had already jumped on a horse’s back, a wonderful black mare, brought there by the messengers.

“Ermal. Remember when you said you were going to be greater than Heracles?” Ermal nodded. “Well, this might be the time when you decide whether you want that destiny to come true.”

I didn’t quite understand his words. Did he really have a choice? Could he actually change the stars? I had always believed our fate was written, and that not even the gods could interfere.

While we left, Chiron’s words echoed in my mind.

He knew something we didn’t, but it was too late to ask what it was.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know this man, I thought. My eyes scanned him from head to toe, and something caught my attention: a huge, pale scar running through his calf. Startled, my eyes jumped into his, and he was already staring.
> 
> “Ermal…” I whispered, or I tried to. My lips moved, but I couldn’t hear any sound coming out of my mouth. I stepped back without even thinking. I wanted to run away, but I knew I couldn’t.
> 
> Memories of a lifetime ago swarmed in my mind; a crowded room, a king and three young girls, a giant with a hammer and a shield, a man with brown skin and a scar, my father, an oath.
> 
> I swallowed and started walking again towards the throne, praying that the man had not recognized me. I was wrong.
> 
> “Prince Ermal, we finally meet. I have heard many stories. Perhaps, on our journey to Troy, you could confirm or deny some of them.” The man smiled the whole time, but it was a vicious smile.
> 
> “My apologies.” Said Ermal. “Should I know who you are?”
> 
> This time, the man laughed softly. He was still looking at me. A name made its way through my memories and surfaced on my lips like poison.
> 
> “Odysseus.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!  
> I just want to thank everyone for the kudos and the comments some of you left to the previous chapters.  
> After all, feedback is what makes it all worthwhile!  
> I hope you continue to enjoy this fic and, please, if you have any suggestions on how I can improve my writing, don't hesitate to tell me!

On the ship, on our way to Troy, I couldn’t stop thinking about how I could let it all happen.

I tried to make sense of it, of any of it, but I just couldn’t.

 

When we arrived to Phtia, the whole town was involved in what we discovered to be the preparations for a war. Peleus didn’t go into the details, he just mentioned a couple of names. Helen, Agamemnon, a prince whose real name was a mystery to me. I heard someone call him Paris, but others called him Alexander. I didn’t know why.

Helen, though, was a name that shook my memory. I was sure I had heard it before, but I couldn’t remember when, or where.

 

*

“I know what happened later.”  
“You do, but not really.”

*

 

The next morning, I woke up and Ermal wasn’t beside me.

_No, not again._ This time, I went immediately to Peleus, demanding that he told me where Ermal was. I didn’t care that he was a king, I couldn’t bring myself to behave as I was expected to, when Ermal’s whereabouts were unknown to me.

At first, he resisted, but when I begged him, he couldn’t refuse.

“Scyros.” he said.

Ermal’s mother, Thetis, had tried to smuggle him from Phtia, because she feared for her son’s life. Without further ado, I sailed aboard the next ship to Scyros.

It didn’t take me long to find him, but it wasn’t as easy to bring him back as I had imagined.

He told me he had slept with a girl, and she was now pregnant.

“Please, listen to me!” Cried he. But something was pinching my throat. I felt my stomach shrink. I was finding out what jealousy felt like. No. It was more than that. It was betrayal.

“Fabrizio, please…” His hand reached for my wrist, and his hands were never wrong. I looked at him, eyes wet. “She… she forced me. I didn’t want to. She-” His lips were trembling. “She promised me she would tell you where I was… My mother, she-”

“She didn’t.” I said.

For the first time since I knew him, his face became veiled with an obscure feeling, too human for him. He had discovered deceit.

I felt horrible: I wanted him to stay pure, to keep believing there was good in everyone, but something broke inside of him in that moment, and it never got back together again.

We decided we would speak to king Lycomedes of Scyros, father of princess Deidamia, with whom Ermal would have had a child. Once we entered the throne room, I saw a man standing beside the king’s throne. Brown skin, darker eyes, a constant grin on his face.

_I know this man_ , I thought. My eyes scanned him from head to toe, and something caught my attention: a huge, pale scar running through his calf. Startled, my eyes jumped into his, and he was already staring.

“Ermal…” I whispered, or I tried to. My lips moved, but I couldn’t hear any sound coming out of my mouth. I stepped back without even thinking. I wanted to run away, but I knew I couldn’t.

Memories of a lifetime ago swarmed in my mind; a crowded room, a king and three young girls, a giant with a hammer and a shield, a man with brown skin and a scar, my father, an oath.

I swallowed and started walking again towards the throne, praying that the man had not recognized me. I was wrong.

“Prince Ermal, we finally meet. I have heard many stories. Perhaps, on our journey to Troy, you could confirm or deny some of them.” The man smiled the whole time, but it was a vicious smile.

“My apologies.” Said Ermal. “Should I know who you are?”

This time, the man laughed softly. He was still looking at me. A name made its way through my memories and surfaced on my lips like poison.

“Odysseus.”

The man nodded imperceptibly.

Ermal looked at me, squinting his eyes. I looked back at him as if to say _“I’ll tell you later.”_

“What exactly is happening here?” It was Lycomedes who asked the question, yet nobody answered. It didn’t matter that he was the King, and that this was his house, it was bigger than him. Bigger than all of us. A few moments passed before Odysseus took a few steps toward us.

“Smart of your mother to bring you here, Pelides, but the time for games is over. You and I must both return to our people. The sooner, the better.” He then looked at me. “We have a pending issue with you, too. Don’t we, Fabrizio?”

 

Ermal swore to Lycomedes that Deidamia’s child would take his name, and the next morning we were returning to Phtia.

At sunset, Ermal and I were on the deck of the ship, our eyes focused on the horizon. It seemed so close. He looked at me and he moved a lock from my forehead and put it behind my ear.

“Will you tell me how you are involved in all of this?” Asked he. I sighed, trying to focus.

“I don’t remember very well, but I think-” I ran a hand over my face. “I think I was nine, when my father took me to Sparta. King Tyndareus’s daughter Helen had reached the age for marriage. My father introduced me as a suitor, but Helen chose Menelaus.”

“Chose?” Ermal was surprised. Women didn’t get to choose their husbands. I nodded.

“There were many other suitors, so Odysseus-”

“He was there?”

I nodded again. “He made us all swear that, had anything happened to Helen and Menelaus, we would come together and fight to defend the marriage.”

Ermal was confused, but it didn’t matter. We could already see Phtia in the distance, and he didn’t have enough time to think about these human affairs.

 

Then, I met Thetis. She stood tall, dark, frighteningly beautiful, as she was waiting for Ermal at the gates of the palace. Peleus was there too, but far from her. Her skin was so pale it looked like the frothy rippling of the sea. She was not happy to see me, but she even less happy to see Odysseus.

The throne room was unnaturally quiet, for a moment. The calm before the storm.

“Ermal is not going to Troy.” Thetis thundered.

“It is not up to you to decide.” Said Odysseus. I was both scared and fascinated. Only Ermal could talk to Thetis like that without facing consequences. But Odysseus was loved by the gods.

“My mother speaks the truth. I will stay here.” Ermal was calm. But so was Odysseus.

What I was witnessing was an unspoken battle of wills.

“You will do as you wish, but know that if you stay here, you will never become the _aristos achaion_.” replied Odysseus, with his usual grin.

I repeated it in my head. To me, he already was.

“But I am the Aristos Achaion.”

“Not if you don’t prove it. You fight this war, and you’ll be the greatest, most famous man that ever existed. No one will exceed your fame, and in the centuries to come, everyone will know your name.” Insisted Odysseus, with a strange light in his eyes.

I saw doubt veil Ermal’s otherwise stoic expression. Only I could see it, because I knew him better than anyone else in that room.

“This is not the whole story.” Thetis’ voice clawed the air. Ermal turned to her.

“What do you mean?”  
“If you go to Troy, you will die young. What Odysseus said is true, but if you fight this war, you will never come back.”

I felt myself suffocating. I couldn’t imagine a life without Ermal. Without his wit, his fast feet and his prodigious hands. A world without his smile, without his golden skin, without his music.

When he died, all things soft and beautiful and bright would be buried with him.

My fingers fidgeted nervously as they looked for something to hold. They were looking for Ermal’s hand.

I knew what Ermal was going to decide. It would have been too tiring and, frankly, useless to try and convince him otherwise. Thetis knew it too.

“I won’t force your hand, young Pelides.” Odysseus straightened up, then walked toward the door. He stood in the doorway, then turned and pointed a finger in my direction.

“You don’t have a choice.” He said, then left.

 

So there we were, on a ship on its way to Troy, and we didn’t even know what were about to fight for. Honor? The honor of whom? The honor of Menelaus, or that of Helen?

Even our warriors, the myrmidons, kept questioning the actual reason behind all of this. But then they saw Ermal wearing his shiny armour, and they saw the face of a god. No, the face of a goddess. Thetis wasn’t there with us, but we all could see her rage inflame his eyes.

The myrmidons weren’t just following their prince to battle. They were going to fight the greatest war the world had ever seen beside the Aristos Achaion.

 

*

“Why are you still here?”

“Because you won’t let me go.”

*

 

The night before we disembarked, I spent a long time on the deck of the ship, scanning the horizons looking for a way out, but I couldn’t find one.

The sound of a wave on the ship's hull made me wince, and I turned around. Thetis was standing in front of me. Her eyes radiated hatred and fear at the same time, and they were pointed right into mine. I wasn’t afraid in that moment.

“Is there something I can do?” I asked. Not a muscle on her face moved. That’s how I knew there was nothing that could be done, not a prayer that could be prayed, not a sacrifice that could be made. Ermal was going to die, and that was it.

“All I know, is the best of the Trojans is going to fall before Ermal. As long as Hector stays alive, Ermal does too.”

The next second she was gone. I felt my chest warm up a little. I think it was hope.

  


The days passed between raids and celebrations - we seemed to have victory in hand - and so did the weeks, the months, the years. The more time passed, the more the end of the war seemed distant. To me, it was a blessing. It meant Ermal had more time.

Ermal and I spent most of our time in our tent, when he didn’t have to fight. I took part in a couple of battles, but I was much more useful in the surgeon’s tent, than on the field.

When we were alone, Ermal would play the lyre for me: he composed a couple of songs by the end of the first year.

 

Briseis was one of the first war prizes the kings took. Ermal wasn’t interested in her, and he would have never taken a slave, but I was with him when it happened. I looked at her and I knew: we had to save her. Agamemnon would have abused her, and so would have done everyone else. Ajax was brutal, Diomedes was stone cold. Maybe Odysseus wouldn’t have hurt her but, just like Ermal, he had no interest in her whatsoever. I grabbed Ermal’s hand and quickly whispered “Take her.” He looked at me in confusion, but did as I told him to before anyone could say anything.

She was afraid, at first, but strong and determined to never go through the humiliation of becoming a slave. Not that I wanted to make her one.

When we brought her to our tent, I tried to free her hands of the leather lace that was tying them together. She wouldn’t let me touch her, so I did the only thing I could think of: I gestured Ermal to come closer, then I kissed him on the lips. Just a small peck, and she understood.

She didn’t speak any greek, but I could tell how smart she was by the way her eyes analyzed everything they landed on, as well as the way she moved her hands. Just like Ermal’s, they were never wrong.

As time went by, she began to trust me and I taught her our language. She was a fast learner and an excellent listener. She was interested in the art of medicine, so I taught her what I had learned back on Mount Pelion. It was refreshing: I was no longer the student; now I was the teacher.

We had grown very close in the last few years. So close I couldn’t imagine a life without her anymore. Even after the war, I knew we would have stayed together. Ermal would have been long gone, but she would have remained. We could have kept Ermal’s memory alive, together.

She once told me that her father, Brises, was a priest of Apollo. I asked her if she believed the god favoured Troy, she said yes. I also asked her if she thought Apollo would have mercy on the greeks, she didn’t answer. A bitter smile appeared on my lips. I had the strange feeling Apollo would have come for me. Sooner or later.

 

For years, Ermal had avoided Hector at all costs.

When asked why, he would always say “What has Hector ever done to me?”

I knew he wasn’t doing it for himself. He was doing it for me. Without him, I would have been lost. I didn’t have anybody else.

 

I would think about Chiron a lot. The night before we left Mount Pelion, he told us to leave the cave and watch the stars. We brought out blankets, because it was a cold night. Ermal fell asleep soon after, and Chiron looked at me, thoughtful.

“What’s the matter?” I asked. He looked away.

“What would happen if the person you love most in the world were to fall?”

I instinctively looked at Ermal. He was breathing lightly, he was at peace. “I- I don’t know.” I answered.

“There may come a time when you will have to know the answer to that question.”

I sneaked my hand under Ermal’s blanket and held his.

Years later, I still couldn’t think of an answer.

 

By the end of the seventh year, I met Thetis again. I had left the camp to harvest some fruit. I went to the woods right behind the Myrmidon’s camp, and there I found her. Her bare feet on the ground, her black, wet dress and her black, wet hair and her chapped lips. She was petrifying.

Her eyes were full of hatred and disgust.

“I have received a warning.” Her voice was low and raspy. “Apollo is enraged. You must tell my son to pay him a greatest sacrifice. A hundred sheep or oxen.” She commanded.

I was about to turn on my heels and leave, when she spoke again.

“There is more.” I looked back at her. “Before two years have passed, the best of the Myrmidons will die.”

I sighed. “We knew this time would come…”

“No.” She said. “When this happens, Ermal will live still.”

She disappeared.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When we first arrived to Troas, Ermal and I talked about the prophecy involving Hector, and I begged him not to kill him. I didn’t realize how selfish I was being. Or rather, I ignored it. For a long time. But now I was slowly starting to understand how tired I was: I was tired of washing blood off my hands, or Ermal’s chest; I was tired of having to watch men fall like flies; but, most of all, I was tired of losing sleep because of the guilt I was feeling.  
> Odysseus didn’t make it easier on me. He, too, knew about the prophecy, and he knew why Ermal was avoiding Hector at all costs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I just want to thank everyone who left a comment or kudos, and just everyone who is reading this, really.  
> There aren't enough words in the english vocabulary to express how much the feedback I got means to me. I hope you will continue to enjoy this story as much as I do.

Eight years. Eight long years we spent away from Phtia, away from Mount Pelion, away from home. In those eight years I witnessed friends die, hundreds of lives thrown away for the whim of this one god or the other. I felt a pain that could not be spoken, and I carried the weight of the dead on my shoulders, knowing that it was my fault. I was keeping the war from ending. I was killing all those greeks. I was doing that. I.

When we first arrived to Troas, Ermal and I talked about the prophecy involving Hector, and I begged him not to kill him. I didn’t realize how selfish I was being. Or rather, I ignored it. For a long time. But now I was slowly starting to understand how tired I was: I was tired of washing blood off my hands, or Ermal’s chest; I was tired of having to watch men fall like flies; but, most of all, I was tired of losing sleep because of the guilt I was feeling.

Odysseus didn’t make it easier on me. He, too, knew about the prophecy, and he knew why Ermal was avoiding Hector at all costs.

“What has Hector ever done to me?” was still his excuse.

But Odysseus was tired as well. One night, after watching another pyre of bodies burn, he ran to Ermal and I’s tent. I was sitting in our bed, while Ermal was sleeping next to me.

“Why are you doing this?” cried Odysseus. Ermal woke up with a start and sat up, so that he could look at the man. What he saw was a husband and a sailor, too old to fight but not old enough to retire. His brown skin was thick and dark from spending too many hours under the hot, hot sun of Troy. He just wanted to go home.

“I’m happy that you two have had eight more years to spend together.” He looked at me. “But every second you take from this war is hundreds of lives stolen.” He sighed, because he had hoped he wouldn’t have to say this. He looked back at Ermal. “You accepted to fight this war, and to die while doing so. You were prepared, Fabrizio was prepared, your mother was prepared! Everybody in this tent and outside knows why you haven’t killed Hector yet. Your own warriors, the Myrmidons, have begun to question your loyalty to the cause. You won’t find a lot of men who still consider you the Aristos Achaion.” He finished, spitting poison on Ermal’s pride.

Ermal stood up and got close to Odysseus, his eyes never leaving him.

“Am I not fighting this war, alongside everybody else? Am I not bleeding, just like everybody else? Am I not losing friends, just like everybody else? What right have you, tell me, to come here and cry about how  _ I  _ am the reason so many people are dying? You were the one who talked me into coming to Troy. So whose fault is that?”

Odysseus dropped his arms at his sides.

“I gave you a choice, a privilege nobody else was given. Nobody.” He looked down, then back at Ermal. “And you’re not losing friends. You’re just losing warriors.”

I felt sorry for Odysseus. But I always felt sorry. How hypocritical of me. 

  
  
  


Agamemnon was incredibly stubborn, that I had come to know very well in the course of the past eight years. But I never considered him a fool. Apparently, I was wrong.

He held Chryseis, daughter of Chryses, Trojan priest of Apollo, as a war prize and refused to return her to her father. We all knew it was a foolish move. One should never, ever, enrage a god, especially if said god is greedy, powerful and loves your enemy dearly.

A plague swept through the entire greek army, burning, killing, maiming every soldier, every boy, every poor soul that never wanted to leave his home. Not one king died, though.

Odysseus tried to talk some sense into Agamemnon, but the captain’s will was strong.

A few days later, the illness grasped my lungs. Trying to breathe became harder and harder as hours went by. I didn’t have enough energy to leave the bed.

Ermal took care of me: he helped me eat -didn’t work very well- and drink, he washed my face every morning and mended the burns on my skin. 

 

*

“You were dying.”

“Yes, I was. And I remember thinking that, had I died then, there, I would have died knowing I was loved.”

*

 

“This is madness!” cried Ermal, throwing open the drape of leather that closed Agamemnon’s tent. “Enough is enough! How many people are you willing to see die, because of your childish stubbornness?”

Odysseus was there, too, and a sarcastic smile appeared on his face, though he didn’t say anything. For once, he agreed with him.

Agamemnon glanced at Ermal, challenging him.

“Beg pardon?” He teased. Ermal snorted loudly.

“You must return Chryseis to her father.” He said in a low voice. He didn’t sound intimidating -he never did, and that was what made him so deadly.

“I must have misheard. Did you say I  _ must _ ? Who do you think is in charge, here? Mh?” He took a few steps towards Ermal, so that their faces were only a few inches apart.

“I will only ask you one more time.” Ermal said.

“I am your king!” Thundered Agamemnon. “You will do as  _ I _ say, not the other way around!”

Ermal tightened his jaw.

“You are not my king. You are nobody’s king, here, but your own people’s. There are plenty of other kings here, and they may have sworn their loyalty to you, but you do not rule over them. And you certainly do not rule over a god.”

Ermal hadn’t moved a muscle. He was dealing with Agamemnon the same way he would have dealt with a battle: taking his time, knowing exactly what to do, winning.

“Fine.” mumbled Agamemnon. “But if you’re taking something from me, I’m taking something from you!”

Ermal stepped back, startled.

“What…?”

“Briseis.” Agamemnon spit that name in Ermal’s face.

“Be very careful, Agamemnon. If you do this, you will pay for it.” thundered Ermal, tightening his fists.

“I will pay for what?” Laughed Agamemnon. “I bet you haven’t even laid an eye on her. Am I not right?”

He looked around at the other men in the room - kings, noblemen and guards - laughing hard, in search for approval. But everyone was silent.

“This is your last warning,  _ King of the Greeks _ .” Mocked Ermal, pronouncing those last words as if they were a sour fruit.

“Or what, Pelides? You don’t even care about her. Don’t you already have that pretty boy to warm your thighs?” Agamemnon laughed, again. Ermal was taking no more of that, and the rest of the room was still silent, tense.

“Go on, take her. But know that by doing so, you have just condemned your entire army to capitulation.” Sentenced Ermal. “I will no longer fight for you and your brother, nor will the Myrmidons.”

Odysseus’ eyes widened in shock. He opened his mouth to say something, but Ermal was quicker.

“Do this, king of Mycenae, and you will lose this war. Everyone you know, everyone you love, they will all die. You will die as well, eventually, and you will be alone, and the Trojans won’t care that you’re a king. They will crush you.”

Agamemnon wasn’t smiling anymore.

“I don’t need you.” He sputtered. “You think yourself divine, don’t you? Well, here’s the thing: you’re not. We will win this war with or without you, and I will show you just how wrong you are.” His face was emotionless. 

 

When Ermal came back to our tent, he was enraged. He kept pacing around on empty, yelling curses and punching the air.

When I asked him what had happened, he told me everything, as he always did.

“The audacity!” He yelled after he had finished. “Does he really think he could win this war without the Aristos Achaion?”

But I stopped listening when he said Agamemnon was coming for Briseis. I suddenly felt stronger, as if the plague had never touched me. I was quickly sobering up.

“He returned Chryseis. Apollo had been pleased.” Ermal explained, quieter now.

“Ermal, does he really want Briseis?” I asked, panicking.

He nodded. I sat up.

“You... you can’t let him. Ermal… you have to stop him.” I said, shaking my head in denial.

Ermal wasn’t looking at me. I touched his arm, but he withdrew from the touch.

“Ermal…”   
“He made up his mind. He dared defy me, my divine nature. He offended me, Fabrizio, can’t you understand?”

I didn’t recognize the person in front of me. He looked a lot like the boy I fell in love with, but he sounded completely different.

“The only thing I understand is that Briseis is going to pay the price of your pride.” 

 

When they came for Briseis, they came at night, and Ermal didn’t even try to stop them. She didn’t resist, letting Agamemnon’s soldier take her away from the Myrmidons’ camp. I had warned her, right after my conversation with Ermal: her reaction was simply to look down and nod slowly. She already knew what betrayal and disappointment felt like. She knew what pain felt like. 

“What’s most surprising, is that I’ve stayed here so long. I expected Agamemnon to claim me much earlier.” She told me, smiling bitterly. I was horrified. 

Briseis held her head up high the entire time. Her pride would have either saved or killed her.

When they were gone, I looked over at Ermal. His eyes were fixed on the beach.

“I don’t know who you are anymore.” I said, hoping to get a reaction. I didn’t.

_ Heck!  _ I thought,  _ What has this war made of you? _

The crescent moon was above us, cold and distant as only the moon can be. I looked up and almost hoped to meet Selene’s eyes. But if even Thetis, a lesser goddess among lesser gods, didn’t think me worthy, I’d have been a fool to think that a Moon goddess could hear my prayers. 

I sighed and looked back at Ermal.

“Do you have the faintest idea of how many people are going to pay for this?”

“Not my people.”

 

I was in the tent when the Trojans came. I heard everything: the crack of bones breaking, the metallic sound of swords being drawn and sunk on shields made of iron and leather, the cries for help, voices calling for mercy. 

I paced around on empty for what I knew to be but minutes, although they seemed like hours.

A crash in the distance: dismayed, ran out of the tent and all I could see was fire and smoke, all I could hear were screams. The chariots of the Greeks were cut down by the burning arrows of the Trojans. Even the Spartans fell like flies. Like everyone else.

I looked at Ermal, who was sitting on the bed, playing the lyre. Normally, that was a picture I would paint over and over again, with the brightest colors. I would sit at his feet and listen to him for hours. I would cry, because of how beautiful he was. Because he was divine, and he loved me nonetheless. But not now.

The most human traits the gods have, are pride and greed. But a god’s pride is much greater than that of the most arrogant man. Gods would let thousands of humans die, if it meant keeping their pride intact. And Ermal was half god, after all. I looked at him and I was furious.

 

I left our tent and ran to Agamemnon’s. Many kings were there, including Odysseus, Diomedes and old Nestor.

My eyes met Odysseus’. He looked older than he actually was; his arms and legs were stained red and he had more scars than he used to.

I glanced at Agamemnon, and I didn’t even bother to nod my respect to him. I walked towards him just like I did with Peleus, many years ago. The way I never had to courage to do with my father.

“How many more soldiers are you willing to lose? How many more men, fathers, sons?” My words were bitter and I knew better than to address him that way, but I didn’t care.

“You should tell that to your man.” The king looked at me in annoyance, as if I were a slave who had dared too much.

“Do you think I haven’t tired?” I raised a brow, and he looked away. “Look at me! While you are hiding here in your tent, your men are dying because of your stubbornness!”

His eyes finally mine again, and I saw them burning with anger.

_ Good. _

“Because of  _ my  _ stubbornness?” He raised a fist: he wanted to hit me, but I was standing there like a rocky promontory, unafraid. Odysseus stepped between the two of us, preventing Agamemnon from punching me.

“Let’s all keep calm. We are all men of honor here. This is not the way we discuss.” He said.

Agamemnon’s expression darkened. He sighed and turned around.

“He can have the girl back.” He said, after a long pause. Odysseus and I immediately exchanged a hopeful look.

I ran back to the tent, and I found Ermal in the same place I left him, only he was more nervous.

“Where were you?” He asked as soon as I stepped in the tent. He stood and came close to me.

“I went- where you worried?” I asked, frowning. He didn’t answer, his eyes spoke for him. “I was… I talked to Agamemnon.” I smiled.

“You… what did he say?” His expression didn’t change.

“He said we can have Briseis back! Now you can make ready for-”   
“For nothing.” He said. I didn’t understand.

“What are you talking about? He offered-”   
“He offered me nothing.” He interrupted me. “I will not lay a finger on a single Trojan, until he pays me his most sincere apologies.”

My mouth fell open. I tried to find another way to convince him to fight, but the confusion in my mind was making it impossible to do. Playing the last card I had, I appealed to his honor.

“The men will hate you. No one will tell your story. What is this all for if it goes unremembered?”

“It is him they should hate.”

One thing gods don’t have in common with humans, is they can’t lose. They wouldn’t know how.

A thunder filled the air with its noise. Lightning followed, and still thunder, then a heavy rain came down.

I lowered my gaze, defeated. He was not going to fight.

_ Maybe… _

I looked up at him again.

“Ermal…”   
He returned the look. In the distance, we could still hear people die.

“Do it for me. Save them for me.”

I knew what I was asking, and I knew I shouldn’t have asked, but he left me no choice.

Finally, an emotion enlivened his face, and I saw conflict in his eyes.

“Do not do this, Fabrizio.” He cried. “Ask of me what you will, but not this.”

I felt horrible, and I choked on every word that I said.

“If you love me…”   
“I said don’t!” He shouted. “I can’t! I can’t…” His eyes were wet and, as awful as it sounds, I was glad, because I finally recognized the person in front of me. “Do you think I want the Trojans to slaughter every last Greek? But I can’t!”

“Then do something!” I looked around the tent and my eyes fell on Ermal’s armor, left in a corner. “Send me. Send me, and I will lead the Myrmidons. They will think it’s you.” I spoke so fast I didn’t fully realize what I was saying.

“No. Not a chance.” He was firm in his answer.

“You said I could ask anything. This is what I’m asking you, now. Send me. Let me wear your armor, let me hold your spear. Everyone will think it’s you, we will win and you will still have your honor and dignity. Every Greek will applaud you.” I said. He was conflicted, but I saw in his eyes, he was considering it.

He let out a long sigh, then he nodded.

“Alright, but listen closely.” He grabbed my chiton at my chest. “I do not want you to take any risks. Stay on the biga, do not throw the spear and, above all, do not chase the enemy. You will go there to scare the Trojans and encourage our army, after which you will immediately return. Do you understand?”

_ Do you understand? _ Of course I understood. He loosened his grip, which turned in a caress. His arms clung to my shoulders and he held me tight, as he had not done in a long time. He kissed me and, for the first time in years, he didn’t taste like blood. He kissed me the way he knew I loved. Slow and sweet, so different from the violence that was surrounding us.

That was his mistake. He knew me like no other: he should have known I was not made for battle.  _ I _ should have known, I was not meant to come back.

 

*

“He won when he won.”   
“Yes, but he wasn’t willing to lose what he lost.”

*

 

We are winning, or it feels like it. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that the Myrmidons are back on the field. It’s enough for the rest of the Greeks to find their strength again. I am leading them, on Ermal’s biga, holding Ermal’s weapons, wearing Ermal’s armor. But it is me. Everyone thinks I am Ermal, the Aristos Achaion, and, for a moment, I believe it too. I see a Trojan archer stretch his bow, ready to shoot. I tighten my grip on the spear and point it. At the right time, I throw it and hit my target at his throat. A violent spray of blood escapes the lethal wound. The body of the fallen Trojan collapses into a pool of his blood; it’s night and it looks pitch black.

I do not even have time to contemplate that death, since I must immediately grasp the reins of the two horses and divert the biga to avoid running over a Trojan chariot. I continue to speed on the ground wet with blood, and the Greeks are following me, sure that I will lead them to victory. Even the warriors of Agamemnon hail the name of Ermal. 

I take the other spear with my right hand, while holding the reins in my left one. I look to my right and see Ajax fighting against three Trojans, with an arrow lodged in his thigh. A crash near me: one of my horses falls and, without having  the time to realize what is happening, I jump off the biga and roll away. I see the it crashing into a group of soldiers, but it's too dark to know if there are any Greeks among the victims. I still have my shield and my xiphos, adorned with silver nails. For a second, I am reminded of my early years in Phtia, when Ermal tried to teach me sword fighting. I can still hear his child voice in my head, scolding me for holding the xiphos as if it were a dagger.

“They’re both blades,” I said. “It’s not the same thing,” he replied.

I stand up straight and look up: I have reached the gates of Troy. I am oddly excited.

Two Trojan guards run in my direction. One of them is hit by a flying arrow, the other attempts make a lunge, but I block his attack with the shield and penetrate his chest with my xiphos. A trickle of blood runs down his chin, then on his neck. He collapses at my feet and ceases to fight.

I glance up and examine the defenses wall. I am convinced that I can climb it. I raise my shield to protect myself from the arrows that the archers are shooting from above and I run forward. Once I’m close enough to the wall, I drop my shield and xiphos to the ground and with my hands, I feel the wall in search of some grip as my ascent begins. My hands and feet sink into the cracks in the wall, allowing me to climb easily. I don’t have to look down to know that I went up too high for a fall from here not to be lethal, or, at least, dangerously damaging. Not to mention the Trojan archers who keep shooting their arrows, but I’m agile enough to avoid them.

When I reach the top of the wall, I look up: I meet two cruelly dark eyes and a vicious grin. Apollo. His hands are as dark as his eyes, and there’s nothing I can do to prevent them from loosen the bonds that hold my chestplate firmly to my chest. I can only watch as he bares my body of every piece of armor I was wearing. I see his hands reach out to grab my shoulders, then he lifts me up. He opens his hands.

I don’t even hear the thud of my fall. I can see the dark sky above me and, for a moment, I think I’m dead. But then I feel it: the greatest pain I’ve ever experienced. And I know I’m still alive. I gather all the strength left in me and stand up. All around me, pieces of my armour. I can’t hear anything, I can see the shock and horror painted on the Myrmidon’s faces.

My black, straight hair and my not-so-golden skin are visible and, now, I look nothing like the Aristos Achaion. I reach for my -Ermal’s- xiphos, but an arrow wounds my right leg, forcing me to my knees. I don’t see who has fired it, but I know it was Apollo who directed it. Something pierces my chest, and I realize that it’s a spear. Again, I don’t see who threw it. I’m struggling to breathe.

I look up, and a tall man, on whose armor I see the blood of his enemies shine in the moonlight, stands out against the sky of Troy. Hector has come to finish me. He has still his spear in his hand, and he is not holding a bow. Clearly, he wasn’t the one who brought me to my knees.

I grin as I look directly into his eyes.

“You… weak… weak…” I mumble as streams of blood come out of my mouth. “You kill me third, Hec- Hector… son of Priam…”

I can see, through his helmet, the fear in his eyes. He knows what is coming. He know  _ who  _ is coming. I smile one more time.

“You-are-dead.” I whisper. Hector sinks his spear in my stomach.

My last thought, is  _ Ermal _ .


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I hope Hector kills you.” She tells him, before leaving.
> 
> Ermal cups my cheeks with his hands and pecks my lips.
> 
> “I hope so, too.” He whispers into my ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! We're at this end of this journey and, frankly, it's been a hell of a ride!  
> First of all, I want to thank every single one of you who left a comment, kudos, or even just read this. I couldn't be happier with the feedback I've received and I hope this last chapter does justice to the Iliad, to The Song Of Achilles, and to Ermal and Fabrizio.  
> Thank you again, for being part of this. It's been an incredible experience and I've learned a lot.  
> I hope you'll enjoy this last chapter!

“....”

“Oh, so now you’re silent.”

 

*

 

Ermal is waiting outside our - _his_ \- tent for news of the battle. From down there, he can’t see a lot. Even with his sight, it’s dark for him as it is for everyone else. He can hear the noise of the colliding swords, the shouts and the confusion of the battle, but he sees nothing.

When he sees the kings and nobles returning to the camps, he searches the crowd for his armor. The only thing that would make me recognizable.

Eventually, he does see his armor: single pieces, carried by different people - squires, mostly. Only his helmet is held by Antilochus, son of Nestor and a friend to both of us.

Then, he sees me. Or, he sees the bloody cloth, what is left of my chiton. He falls on his knees.

His first instinct is to reach for his xiphos and cut his own throat. Then he remembers, he gave it to me. He gives an inhuman scream, more acute, penetrating and violent than any sound that has ever left a human mouth. Antilochus and Menelaus try to hold him back, but he knocks them down. He throws himself on my body crying, pulling his own hair out, sinking his face into the hollow of my cold neck.

Fabrizio, he says, Fabrizio. Fabrizio. Over and over until it is sound only.

He holds me so tightly I can feel the faint beat of his chest, like the wings of a moth. An echo, the last bit of spirit still tethered to my body. A torment.

 

A woman makes her way through the crowd and, as soon as she sees my body, she screams. Briseis is distraught, I can feel it.

“Who.. who did it?” She cries. Nobody answers. “Who did it?” She repeats, with a louder, almost threatening  voice.

“Hector.”

It was Menelaus who answered, but it doesn’t matter.

Ermal gets up and grabs the spear of one of the men gathered around us. He wants to kill Hector.

He pulls away all the arms that try to hold him back, until Odysseus stands in front of him and, with tired eyes and a steady voice, says “tomorrow."

 

Ermal takes me to our tent and gently places me in our bed. He washes me of the blood, lulls me, but mostly he cries. And he doesn’t eat. My corpse is rotting, but he doesn’t care. He still calls my name, every now and then.

Fabrizio. He still pronounces it the way he always has. Clear and right.

The next morning, his mother appears in the tent. The stench is unbearable for her, and she doesn’t try to hold back a grimace of disgust.

“Go away.” Ermal hisses.

“He’s dead.” She says. Her voice is the sound of waves crashing on the shore.

“Hector is dead. I’m going to kill him tomorrow.”

“Without an armor?”

“I don’t need an armor.”

Thetis hated me when I was alive, and to see my corpse in his son’s arms was too loathsome for her.

“Go away.” Ermal repeats.

“I’ll bring you an armor.”

  


Briseis is brutally honest, and she doesn’t spare Ermal.

“This is your fault.” She’s standing in front of the bed, her cheeks wet with tears that just won’t stop running down. The crack in her voice is too painful. I wish I could just stop listening. I wish I could just leave. But I can’t. Ermal won’t let me go.

“He was better than any of us. Better than you.” She says, voice sharp.

“Leave.” He tells her. “Leave us alone.”

“He was the best of the Myrmidons. You call yourself the Aristos Achaion, but you aren’t. He was. You think you’re invincible, that you’re the best of the best, but who fights your battles? Who wins in your name? Who dies for you?”

“I said leave!”

“I hope Hector kills you.” She tells him, before leaving.

Ermal cups my cheeks with his hands and pecks my lips.

“I hope so, too.” He whispers into my ear.

 

Agamemnon steps in, joined by Odysseus and other men. Kings, I believe, and Ajax.

“I have been told you will fight, tomorrow.” He says. Nobody can take their eyes off of my body. It’s disgusting and it draws the eye, like all disgusting things.

“Yes.” Ermal’s voice is raspy. His throat hurts from crying.

“Good. I’m sorry about your… friend.” Agamemnon eyes Odysseus, who nods in return. “The woman, Briseis, she will return to your camp.”

Ermal doesn’t answer. He could say she has already returned. He can say he doesn’t care about Briseis. He could say a lot of things. But he doesn’t. He stays quiet.

Agamemnon hesitates a few more seconds, then leaves the tent, followed by the other kings.

Now we’re alone again.

“What has Hector ever done to me?”

 

At the break of dawn, his mother arrives with the armor. A sparkling, still warm, bronze armor, a shield and a sword.

He puts it on and he’s ready for war. He doesn’t wait for his soldiers, or the other kings. He knows what he has to do, and he will kill everything that gets in the way.

He runs on the beach, towards the city, and many greeks follow him. They don’t want to miss the scene.

“Hector!” He shouts. “Hector!”

He makes his way through the ranks of the enemy army by dint of sword. Ermal’s rage is no different than a god’s. No, it’s worse. Gods don’t know what it means to love like humans do, to feel the life of a loved one fade away, to touch somebody’s heart, and hold it, and feel it become stone cold. No, Ermal’s rage is more violent, desperate and devastating than any god’s or man’s, because he is both.

“Hector!” He calls. But Hector flees.

Nobody survives Ermal. His sword hits fast and it is precise. It gives the Trojan a quick, almost painless and dignified death.  Princes and kings fall under the touch of Ermal’s sword.

Then he sees him: Hector moves quickly among his ranks, running away in the direction of the river Scamander, Troy’s river. He crosses the river and keeps running.

Ermal chases him, but when he reaches the Scamander’s shore, a mighty figure emerges from the waters of the river and spreads his arms, blocking his way. It’s the god Scamander. He won’t let Ermal reach Hector, because he loves his devoted people, and Hector is the most devoted.

“You won’t keep me from killing him.”

Ermal’s entire body is covered in blood, sweat and mud. And now, in water.

_Please, Ermal, don’t._

The river god and Ermal fight a long fight. For the first time in his life, Ermal had to actually earn the victory. Scamander is an ancient god, and he has seen many battles. Ermal is young, but he has just as much experience. The god hits him with his huge wooden stick and breaks his shield. Ermal is on his last legs but, in the end, he manages to wound the river god. The damage isn’t bad enough to kill him, but it’s serious enough to force him to retreat.

The water of the river boils with blood.

“Hector!” The hunt begins again.

Hector doesn’t run for much longer. He knows there is nowhere he can go, where Ermal won’t find him.

He stops, finally, and turns around to face his destiny.

“Prince Ermal, I know you have a noble soul, and it is to that nobility that I appeal. Let us make a pact: the one who triumphs will return the body of the loser to his family.”

Ermal makes a sound similar to a roar.

“There are no bargains between lions and men.”

Ermal tightens the grip on his sword and they start fighting. Hector knows Ermal will kill him. It doesn’t matter that he is tired from battling against the river god Scamander. As long as he holds onto his rage, he will have the strength to keep fighting.

He sinks the sword into his shoulder with a movement so fast Hector doesn’t even notice it, until he’s kneeling before him.

“Please… Ermal…” Hector spits blood as he speaks. “Have mercy on me… Return me to my father…”

“Mercy?” Ermal hisses, furious. “I will kill you and no mercy will be shown. If I let myself be consumed by the rage I feel, rage you caused, I would eat your insides raw. But I will leave this pleasure to crows and dogs.”

He draws the sword from his shoulder and sinks it again. This time, straight in the throat.

  


When Ermal returns to the camp, he finds it painfully silent. But he doesn’t care. He drags Hector’s body in his tent, and leaves it at my feet. The corpses in the room may be two, but all three of us are dead.

A week goes by. A week during which, every morning, Ermal disfigures more and more Hector’s body by tying it to his horse and riding for hours.

On the seventh night, an old hooded man comes to the camp. He is unarmed, vulnerable, yet everyone lets him in. He asks a couple of guards how to reach Prince Ermal’s tent, and they show him the way.

When he finally finds it, he steps in silently. He takes off his hood, and white, frizzy hair fall on his shoulders. His white face is covered with wrinkles and scars.

_Priam._

Ermal is awake, as always. He hasn’t slept a whole night through since… since…

“Good evening, Prince Ermal.” Priam nods him his respect. “I am Priam, King of Troy.”

“I know who you are.”

The old man notices my body, rotting on Ermal’s bed.

“Is that… is that your friend?” He asks, swallowing hard.

“ _Philtatos_.” Ermal says. Most beloved.

“I’m sorry for your loss-”

“You don’t know what I’ve lost.” Ermal’s eyes finally meet Priam’s.

“Don’t I?”

Ermal knows why Priam is here, but he lengthens the wait.

“How did you get here without getting yourself killed?” He sighs.

“I was willing to die trying to get here. I was just lucky.”

“If you were lucky, your son would still be here.”

Suddenly, the tent becomes ice cold.

“Misfortune didn’t kill my son.That, you did.” Priam isn’t resentful. He is just tired, and in pain.

Ermal bites his lower lip, trying to hold back his tears. They are tears of anger.

“Either way, you’ve come all this way for nothing. I can’t do what you came here to ask.”

Priam was expecting Ermal would say that. His eyes fall on me and, for the first time, someone isn’t looking at me with pity. He’s looking at me, at my wounds, and he’s thinking _my son did that_.

“I know how great a pain my son Hector has caused you. I know what it feels to lose everything, believe me. I do.” Priam is right. He used to have fifty sons and fifty daughters. He lost more than half of his children during the war. “And it is to that pain we both share, that I appeal.” He talks like Hector. “Please, let me bring my boy home. Let his mother see him and kiss him goodbye one last time. Let him rest.”

Ermal looks at my body. A tear runs down his right cheek.

“Do you think they are still here?” He asks Priam. “Do you think they can hear us? See us?”

_Yes, Ermal. I’m here. I can hear you. I can see you._

“I don’t know. Why are you asking this?” Priam gets a step closer to Ermal. He shakes his head.

“I hope he didn’t see what I did.” He looks at Priam and stands up. “It’s true, you have lost many lives. But know that, if the whole world were to perish, I would let it be so, if it meant having Fabrizio back. I would let every last man, woman, or child, Greek or Trojan, die, if it meant having Fabrizio back again.” Ermal is breathing deeply, and I can see a shadow of fear veil Priam’s eyes. Young hearts aren’t meant to be broken. Yet, it happens more often than not, especially when the gods are involved.

“I know.” He says. “But there are things that can’t be.”

Ermal sits back down, and touches my cold hand. If I could, I would squeeze it back.

_I’m sorry._

“Rest now, Priam, King of Troy. I will make my men prepare a chariot for you. You will leave tomorrow, at dawn. Hector will be waiting for you on the chariot.”

Priam smiles. It’s a grateful, bittersweet smile. He has just witnessed the mercy of a god.

  


Priam has left two hours ago, and now Ermal is passing a wet cloth on my face, my arms, my legs. He’s washing my body, preparing it for a proper funeral.

 _Thank you._ If only he could hear me.

He does it all by himself: he makes the pyre, he lights the fire, he watches over me. When two slaves approach the pyre to collect the ashes, Ermal beckons them to step aside. He raises the urn and collects my ashes with his bare hands. He then turns to his warriors, who are standing in silence behind the pyre.

“When I die, burn my body and let my ashes mix with his.”

Antilochus looks him in the eye and nods, silently.

  


*

“...”

“Silence won’t save you now.”

*

 

Ermal falls to his knees without making a sound. The city around him is on fire. The soil is quenching its thirst with Trojan blood and, now, with his own. He feels something sting his ankle, a nuisance that soon turns into an unbearable burning. He looks up and sees him, the archer who shoot the poisoned arrow. Paris.

“He… is not.. that far…” Ermal whispers.

_No… Ermal, no!_

He stands up and raises the arm that holds the spear. But before he can make a move, another arrow is shot, and, this time, it hits his throat.

_Ermal…_

I can’t do anything, but watch him die at my feet.

_Ermal.. please… no…_

He’s not fighting anymore. He doesn’t try to stand up. He doesn’t do anything. He lets his blood flow out of his body.

_I’m sorry. I did this to you. I killed you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry._

  


Nobody cries at Ermal’s funeral. When the fire dies out, everyone turns their gaze to Thetis, who has the duty of collecting her son’s ashes. She doesn’t move.

Odysseus, who was standing right beside Antilochus, steps forward.

“Great Thetis, I believe you are aware of Ermal’s wish to…”

“Do what you have to do. It’s not of my concern. I have already done enough.”

 

I am impatient. I watch as Odysseus and Antilochus take my urn and bring it to the pyre. Will I feel his ashes touch mine? No, that’s absurd.

_Let us rest. Lay us down in the cold earth. Give us peace._

The kings discuss about which place is the most appropriate.

_Anywhere. Anywhere._

Someone says the monument should be built on the exact spot where he died. Someone else says it should be built on the cliff above the Myrmidon camp.

_Please. Let us be together._

 

“I will take my father’s place.” A voice from across the tent catches the attention of everybody. Odysseus looks at the boy that voice belongs to.

“Excuse me?”

“I am called Neoptolemus. Some know me as Pyrrhus. I am-”

“Ermal’s son.” Odysseus interrupts. The boy looks him in the eye.

“Yes.”

I glance at him at he looks nothing like Ermal.

_He is twelve._

“Aren’t you a little too young?” Agamemnon says, scanning him from head to toe. He is an experienced warrior, and he knows a young, skinny boy like that can’t sit with the other kings. Nor fight a war.

“I was raised by the gods under the sea.” Pyrrhus argues. His red, fiery hair is the only thing that makes him look alive and somewhat human.

Menelaus points at Ermal’s empty seat, and Pyrrhus takes it.

“We were trying to decide where to build the monument dedicated to your father and his friend, Fabrizio.”

Pyrrhus’ expression changes suddenly; he has the same eyes as Thetis, the same sickened look.

“You will do no such thing. My father will not rest in the same place as a slave.”

“Fabrizio was not a salve.” Odysseus blurts out. He never really liked me that much, but he never hated me either. “And their ashes are already mixed together.”

“It doesn’t matter. The monument will only read ‘Ermal’. No mortal can be his equal. He will live on forever, he is immortal.”

“He died, though.” Agamemnon grins.

Pyrrhus doesn’t answer, but the look in his eyes is enough to make everybody go quiet.

I look at Agamemnon; he has given up, and he didn’t really care about that monument anyway. Ajax is there, too, and he could say something, being Ermal’s closest relative after Pyrrhus. He could say something, anything, but he doesn’t. I look around, and there isn’t a face I recognize. Almost everyone I knew, died. Odysseus is my last hope. I step instinctively towards him.

 _Please, don’t let him win._ I don’t expect any answer, I know he can’t hear me.

Strangely enough, his face changes. An imperceptible movement, a tense nerve, and I know he will not give up.

“Pyrrhus, may we speak privately, please?” He says and heads outside the tent.

Ermal’s son follows him, annoyed by what he thinks is a waste of time.

“Speak.” He says, impatient. Odysseus looks at him, trying to figure out a way of breaking through Pyrrhus’s facade of inhumane coldness, while also hoping to find something, behind it.

“I know this sounds unfair, but I knew your father better than you. He asked to be buried with Fabrizio. I was there when he died, and he died knowing he would see his friend again.”

Pyrrhus’ gaze is inscrutable. Odysseus sighs.

“Fabrizio was not a slave. And he was so much more than just a friend, to Ermal. I know your grandmother will disagree, but he was his best self, when Fabrizio was with him. Since Fabrizio died, Ermal changed. I think- no, I _know_ Ermal didn’t just seek revenge. He sought death, so he could be reunited with Fabrizio. Could you ever deny him that?”

Odysseus tried his best, I know it and he knows it, but Pyrrhus isn’t Ermal. Trying to reason with Pyrrhus is like trying to reason with a wall. An ice cold wall.

“I don’t know why you felt the need to have this conversation, but I won’t change my mind. My father will have his monument, and there will be no headstone for that.. Fabrizio.” He pronounced my name as if it were a disease. “He has already brought shame and misfortune to my father when he was alive. He won’t do that anymore, now that he’s dead.”

 

*

 

_How many years?_

“You know.”

_Yes, I know. But I want to hear it from you. How many years?_

“Ten.”

_Ten years. I’ve been dead for ten years._

She is silent. Her eyes are fixed on the funerary monument. It reads ERMAL.

In the past ten years, people from all over Greece have come here, to commemorate Ermal and his heroic death.

For ten years I saw people come and go, and not one of them knew my name. Not one them said “Ermal, and with him, in the same urn, lies Fabrizio.”

_You let Pyrrhus do this to me. You let the world forget my name. I was his therapon!_

I haven’t cried since I have been dead. But it’s pointless now.

I sigh.

 _You asked me why I was here, you know the answer to that question. But why are_ _you_ _here?_

She tightens her jaw.

“I can’t go to him.” No, she can’t. She is a sea goddess, after all. She cannot descend to the realm of Hades.

Thetis’ hand touches the cold stone of her son’s tomb.

“I wanted to make a god out of him, but I failed.”

_He didn’t need to be a god. He needed a mother._

She looks at me and for the first time, I see something I never thought I’d ever see in her eyes: regret.

_There was nothing you could do to change him. There was never anything anybody could do._

“I can do this, now.” She says.

When her hand leaves the grave, another name appears, beside Ermal’s. FABRIZIO.

I look at her, but she turns around. She’s leaving.

“Go, he’s waiting for you.”

  


_My love, take away this war, wash away this blood, peace, give me peace. Make the passions and anger of a decade fade away. Let me forget all the violence. Remind me of all your love._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few more things:
> 
> This part: "Fabrizio, he says, Fabrizio. Fabrizio. Over and over until it is sound only.  
> He holds me so tightly I can feel the faint beat of his chest, like the wings of a moth. An echo, the last bit of spirit still tethered to my body. A torment." is the part I basically copy pasted from the original book because I couldn’t find any better words to describe this scene. This is the only time I did that, though, and you can consider this as some sort of tribute to the legend herself, Madeline Miller.
> 
> Also,  
> turn the page, there's a little surprise for you ;)


	6. Epilogue

Die if I must,

let my bones turn to ashes.

On my headstone shall you write

that I loved him more than life

itself.

On his headstone shall you write

that he was loved more than he

thought he deserved.

Let the world forget our secret,

let the world forget

the truth.

Let them remember my name,

let them whisper it under their breath,

and they will know,

it does not go alone.

— 

| 

Ermal, and beside it, always Fabrizio.   
  
---|---  
  
**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to Memi, for the advice.


End file.
